


Sodomize Me, Cap'n!

by americalovesthecockpit



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America's POV, Crack, M/M, Pirates, Rough Sex, Smut, UKUS, lulz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americalovesthecockpit/pseuds/americalovesthecockpit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America just wanted to watch "My Little Pony," but England breaks into his house dressed as a pirate and demands kinky role-play sex. England was long overdue to plunder some booty, and other bad pirate jokes. CRACKY UKUS SEX AHOY!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sodomize Me, Cap'n!

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my good friend srcpcsoha for her birthday! Happy (now belated) birthday! :D
> 
> Anyway, standard warnings for cracky sex and such apply. America's POV.

 

So I was watching MLP. That stands for ‘My Little Pony’ for those of you who aren’t a bronies. Like ME. I’m a brony. 

 

“Ohhh, I miss your old voice, Derpy,” I lamented. “Why did they change you?”

MLP is the best show. It taught me that friendship is magic :3 (Not the card game.) 

HOOOOOOONK!

“WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, ASSHOLE!” 

Someone shouted that at me! As I veered out of my lane and into theirs, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision! Oh, did I mention I was driving and watching MLP on my iPhone at the same time? If you’re thinking ‘THEN YOU CAN’T SEE WHERE YOU’RE GOING YOU DING DONG’ well psssh mind your own business. That’s what I got a GPS for. It tells me where to go.

“Make a left turn in .05 miles,” said my GPS.

See? All I gotta do is know exactly when .05 miles is and I’m good. I GOT THIS, Y’ALL.

CRAAAASH!

“What the? !” 

I’d hit something. But it wasn’t my fault — I’d turned left in exactly .05 miles! And it was into MY driveway! And there shouldn’t be anything in my driveway! There wasn’t when I left this morning. I quickly backed up, still watching MLP because I needed to wait until a good breaking point to pause it (like I’m gonna pause it mid-sentence, come on), and hoped and prayed to God that it wasn’t a child that I hit.

I quickly got out to survey the damage. I walked all around my truck. Phew, THANK GOD. My truck nuts were still intact. Luckily I crashed with the front of my truck, and they were in the back, so they were unscathed, as nuts should be.

Couldn’t say the same about the front of my truck. My whole front bumper was jacked up! And my front license plate fell off! Now how will people in front of me be amused by my license plate that says CUPCAKES? That’s not a reference to ‘Cupcakes’ the very disturbing MLP fanfiction. I just really like cupcakes. The actual factual food. I had it made before that fic was written, but next to my MLP bumper stickers on the back of the truck, I guess it has some unintended implications :/

I’d hit the back of some car I’d never seen before. What the heck was this car doing in MY driveway? Especially since I’ve been gone all day picking out the biggest and veiniest truck nuts for my truck? Whose car WAS this? ! And could I get away with not leaving a note? No one saw me. I could just back up … drive away … lay low for a few hours … maybe see a movie … I think the Hobbit is still out … and that ‘This is 40’ movie looked kinda funny … or maybe ‘Movie 43,’ that has lots of good actors in it …

… oh, who am I kidding? This was my house. I think they’re gonna know it was me.  GREAT. Now I gotta call ALL STATE and they’ll jack up my rates. Please imagine that sentence with me with that deep, black guy’s voice like in the commercials.

When I went to my door, it was unlocked! That can’t be good! What if there was a thief in my hi-zouse? Stealing all my stuff? That was scary but at least my iPad with all my MLP episodes and my truck nuts were safe. It’s important in these situations to remember to keep things in perspective. Gotta count your blessings :)

“Helloooo?” I called when I opened the door. “Burglar? You in here?” The burglar didn’t respond. HOW CRAFTY. “You should know I got a gun and I am not afraid to go all Adam Lanza on anyone who touches MY STUFF!”

I heard a noise in the kitchen so I headed that way. I was very worried. The kitchen is where I keep my burgers. This was a burglar so what if this was the HAMBURGLAR? You know, you don’t hear from him very much anymore. He kinda disappeared. He’s not in the commercials anymore, so what happened to him? Maybe he went to jail for stealing burgers. Maybe he was caught in police crossfire in a deadly shootout during a burger heist. Or maybe he’s just been laying low. Staying away from McDonald’s and their corporate lawyers, and just stealing burgers from normal good everyday white folk like myself. 

Or maybe it was Plankton from SpongeBob. He was always stealing burgers too. But then again, he only did it for the Krabby Patty secret formula. Why he didn’t just pay someone to buy him a burger and bring it back to him is beyond me!

I walked into the kitchen and neither the Hamburglar nor Plankton was in there. You can sleep easy tonight, kids. Instead I saw England, who was dressed not in his normal clothes. Normally when I see him he wears a suit or a sweater vest. But not today.

How do I describe what England was wearing? I could go into a detailed description of his outfit — the big hat, the coat with the buttons and cuffs, the shirt underneath with that filly thing like an ascot, the chaps, the tall boots. But meh, I don’t really feel like it. He was dressed like a pirate. It’s a story — use your imagination. 

England was leaning against the wall, one boot against it, the other on the floor. His arms were crossed. And he had this weird look on his face I couldn’t quite place. Like a smirk, but there was something else there too. Something just a little creepy.

“Cool Johnny Depp costume,” I said.

“America,” he started, “I’ve been waiting very patiently for you.”

“Uh, is that your car in the driveway?” I asked.

“For today — it’s a rental. But let’s not talk about that. I don’t want to take us out of the scene.”

“Yeah, well, Hertz ain’t gonna be very happy when they take a gander at—“

“Shut your mouth, _boy_ ,” interrupted England, pushing himself off the wall.

“What the — don’t you talk to me like that!” I’m a grown ass man and I got the horizontal driver’s license and big boy hair on my balls to prove it! GRR!

“It’s not from Hertz, it’s from Enterprise.” England was walking toward me. Slow, deliberate steps. “Enterprise. Like _HMS Enterprise_. The fleet of ships from my Royal Navy. First launched in 1705, after stealing the first ship of the fleet from the damn French. Only the first of my many victories and spoils, which continued for decades, as the vessels spanned the globe, and ruled the oceans.”

Silly England. Everyone knows the _Enterprise_ was a SPACE ship. Wesley Crusher lived there.

“Now.” England stopped directly in front of me, staring me hard in the eyes. “As both captain and admiral, I command you to submit, and bend yourself over that table there, for your superior.”

For some reason I just glanced over at my kitchen table before reacting. Why did I do that, it’s not like I’m not familiar with my own kitchen table …

But then what he said sunk in and I was like SAY WHAAAAAT :O

“Haha, whoa, England,” I said, taking a step back. “I dunno what’s gotten into you — if you watched too much ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ or drank too much Captain Morgan or what. But if you did drink too much you need to do that pose.” I put one leg up like the pirate on the bottle. “Like that. Or are you too drunk to do that?”

“Not a drop of alcohol has passed these lips today,” said England. “Now quit back-talking your superior and obey me, boy.”

“QUIT CALLING ME BOY!” When England called me ‘boy,’ he said it weirdly. Like slightly deeper and slightly longer than normal. Like it just had this tone of really trying to put me down, like talking down to me. Like he was better than me. PSSSSH I ain’t gotta take that! “And seriously! Why are you dressed as a pirate? !”

I’ve heard of Talk like a Pirate Day. But I’d never heard of Dress Like a Pirate and Demand Buttsex Day.

England’s face changed and he looked very annoyed. “Idiot, I’m trying to role-play. Now shut up and play along,” he whispered.

“Role-play?” I whispered back. “Like … sexually? This is what gets you off? Dressing up and pretending to be a pirate?”

“Yes. Quit judging me and join in. Pretend to be a naïve cabin boy who must obey his captain.”

“Hahaha, WOW. You and your crazy kinks. This is almost as kinky as the time we had sex in a phone booth and you were moaning ‘OHHHH DOCTOR WHOOOOO DOCTOR WHOOOOOOO!’ You sounded like the horniest owl in the world.”

“Shut up!” he whispered harshly. “You don’t understand. I used to be a pirate. Those were some of the most thrilling, invigorating years of my life—“

“Did you get it? Like WHOOOO sounds like the sound an owl makes?”

“ _As I was saying_   — those were some of the best years of my life. Is it so bad that I want to pretend to be back then again, just for one night?”

“Yeah but … during _sex?”_ I whispered.

“Please. Just indulge me.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“I was trying to avoid breaking character so much!” shouted England, much louder than a whisper. “Damn it! Will you just play along and let me have my fun? !”

“But I don’t have a costume.”

“That’s all right. You won’t have on clothes at all soon.”

:O

If you’re wondering what me and England’s ~DEAL~ was, well, it’s hard to explain. I wouldn’t go as far to say we were _boyfriends_ , exactly. We had sex sometimes, but we were more than just fuck-buddies. It’s sort of this weird in between thing that didn’t quite have a name because we didn’t really talk about it. I’d tried to a couple times, but England always changed the subject.

That said, I’d never let England top me before. I always fucked him, never the other way around. So him demanding me to bend over was a bit of a shock. You can throw surprise parties but you shouldn’t throw surprise dickings! 

“Oh, you reminded me,” England said suddenly. “The last part of my costume.” England walked out of the room but quickly returned, this time with a parrot on his shoulder. A real one, not like some prop.

“AWWWWWW!” I exclaimed. “It’s so CUUUUTE! Can I pet it?”

If Japan was there he would have been like “OHHH KAWAIIIIIIII DESU MITSUBISHI!” or some Japanese shit.

“Mr. Biscuits is not _cute_ ,” said England, annoyed. “He is my loyal companion.”

“If he’s not cute why did you name him the cutest name EVAR?” I petted Mr. Biscuits even though England told me not to, hehe. He felt fluffy and birdy.

“Because he likes biscuits,” said England like it was obvious. “Now quit fucking around, and bend your arse over that table like I ordered!”

“Hey England.” I still petted the birdy. “If you’re pretending to be a pirate, why don’t you talk like one? You should be talking like Mr. Krabs on SpongeBob, and say stuff like ARRRGH and MATEY and SHIVER ME TIMBERS!”

“No, that’s bollocks,” snapped England. “That’s not how _real_ pirates spoke.”

“OH?” I made an ORLY face. “How did they speak then?”

“They said things like _bend your arse over that table like I ordered!_ ”

“Oh.”

England sounded like he meant srs bsns. And I guess he really did mean it. After all, he did buy a plane ticket, flew all the way over here unannounced, rented a car, drove over here, broke into my hi-zouse, put on that costume, GOT A FRIGGIN’ PARROT, stole my burgers, or wait that was just my imagination, and waited all day for me to get home just so he could have kinky pirate sex with me. You don’t put in that much effort without expecting to get something out of it. (That something= aforementioned kinky pirate sex.)

I gave England a sheepish shrug. “Ya know, England …” I started.

“SQUAWKKKKK!” interrupted the parrot. “YA KNOW ENGLAND!”

“Ohmigerd!” I exclaimed. “He can talk? !”

“He can repeat words, yes,” said England. “He is a parrot, after all.”

“WOW!”

“Wow!” said Mr. Biscuits.

England looked annoyed. “What were you about to say, America?” 

“Huh?” I asked. “OH! I was gonna say I wasn’t really planning to lose my anal virginity today.”

“SQUAAAAAWK!” squawked Mr. Biscuits. “ANAL VIRGINITY!”

That wiped the smug look off England’s face. For like TWO SECONDS. Then he got his pirate swag back and his smirk creeped me out.

“Oh?” he said. “I didn’t know that about you. It will be an honor to be the first to penetrate you. ”

“Welllll — I mean, it’s not like I haven’t experimented. I mean who _hasn’t_ stuck a finger up there every now and then, like in the shower when you’re curious or frisky, and by the way shampoo is not a very good lube, it — WAIT A MINUTE!” I was slow to react, like a surprised turtle. I like turtles. “You’re really planning on doing this, aren’t you? ! You wanna take my anal virginity while dressed as freakin’ CAPTAIN HOOK? ! … from Peter Pan, in case you didn’t get that reference, England.”

“I didn’t know you hadn’t bottomed before, but it fits well with the scenario,” said England. “You’re my fresh, young, naïve cabin boy. Eager to make a good impression on his captain … and at my mercy.”

My mind was still on Captain Hook. Wouldn’t it suck if England actually had a hook like him? I mean, can you imagine being fingered by THAT? Ouch, dude. “If you’re a pirate, where is your eye patch or peg leg? All cool pirates have stuff like eye patches or peg legs.”

“Ugh, is everything you know about pirates just inaccurate stereotypes from that ‘Treasure Island’ movie?”

“Um, it’s called ‘ _Muppet_ Treasure Island,’” I corrected. “And kinda.”

England sighed. “As much as I would love to educate you on what true pirates were really like, that’s not what I came here for. I’d much rather throw you over the kitchen table, fuck you senseless over it, and completely _dominate_ you, so roughly that afterward you will walk like you have the rickets.”

Rickets (or more accurately, _osteomalacia,_ for adults) is a softening of the bones caused by lack of Vitamin D, calcium, or phosphorous, and thought to be the cause of the ‘pirate gait’ and bow legs they are depicted of having. Nutritional deficiencies were common to pirates due to a lack of fresh food and varied diet. *THE MOAR YOU KNOW*

That was a long walk for a meh joke, but you and I took it together, so hopefully it means something to you :)

But anyway, long story short, _you want the D_. (Vitamin D.)

“But don’t worry,” said England holding up a small tube. “I brought lube.”

“LUBE!” squawked the parrot.

“KY?” I scoffed. “I don’t think they were around in the 1700’s. Now who’s being historically inaccurate, HMM?”

“If you’d _rather_ me fuck you raw—“

“NO NO—“

“I didn’t think so. Now. Back to the scene.” England cleared his throat, and once again, his pirate swag was back. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he was back in his freaky dress-up role-play fantasy .“I don’t know why you think you can disobey your captain, _cabin boy_ …” His voice sounded mean! “But I gave you an order, and I expect you to follow it. Get your trousers off!”

I paid England no mind. Why should I? I mean, he never plays any of _my_ games. Like Words with Friends! I got that game and he refused to play it with me! So then I had no one to play it with so then it was Words withOUT Friends :( And since friendship is magic, I was totally bummed. By the way, I got the actual REAL game of Words with Friends! Yeah! The company that made the original app version made a real board game of it so you can play IRL! Cool, right? I mean, it’s basically just Scrabble but you know.

“ _Cabin boy_ ,” England said harshly when I straight up BLEW HIM OFF. “Do as I say.”

Cabin boy … cabin boy … wasn’t Flapjack a cabin boy? Anyone remember that show? That was a good show. It was about a little boy who made funny faces who lived inside a sperm whale (LOL SPERM) and there was this old pirate guy who hung around and got drunk off syrup. Good show for childrens. England kinda reminded me of that pirate guy, Captain K’nuckles, acting all like this!

… now I’m thinking about Captain K’nuckles demanding to fuck poor little Flapjack over a table and now I’m gonna have nightmares :/

Suddenly, England snapped his fingers. When he did, the parrot flew across us and landed on my shoulder.

“OHMYGODWOW!” I exclaimed so happily! :O “He’s sitting on my shoulder! THAT’S SO COOL! Heya buddy, do you want some Froot Loops? I got some! Parrots love Froot Loops! Oh wait shit that’s toucans, haha. Oh well, I’m gonna make you eat them anyw — OOF!”

While I was distracted by Mr. Biscuits, England had grabbed me forcibly, like a group of five or six Indian gangbangers, and shoved me onto the table. He’d pushed me face first, so I was bent over it, just like he wanted! England was directly behind me, pinning me with his body and holding me there.

The parrot flew back to England and landed on his shoulder. I know he has a beak but I swear that thing was smirking, like that smug stork bastard on the pickle jars. What the hell does a stork have to do with pickles? You having babies in my pickles? I sure as hell hope not.

“I hate you, Mr. Biscuits!” I yelled. “You set me up! You little TRAITOR! I loved you and would have given you my Froot Loops and you play me like that? !”

“Shut up,” snapped England. He harshly slammed my face down on the table. My chin hit it and it hurt like a bitch, you guys. “You only speak _when I tell you to_ , do you understand? I am the captain, your superior, and you better start acting like you know your place, boy.”

“England.” I was frozen, trapped between being hunched over the table and England’s straddling body behind me. “You know I’m hella stronger than you. You have about three seconds to quit screwing around before I literally FLIP THIS TABLE and throw your kinky ass out on the street!” (The street is where whores belong.)

Then I felt England’s hot breath in my ear. “Just play along,” he whispered in a different tone. “You’ll end up liking it, I promise.”

“How do _you_ know?” I whispered back. Oh great, now we’re back to whispering again.

“Just trust me. Role-playing can be quite enjoyable.”

“Pssh, oh yeah. Nothing gets me off more than pretending I’m banging friggin’ Cap’n Crunch.”

“I am _not_ dressed as Captain Crunch!”

“Then why am I eating your cereal?”

Oh, I started eating some Cap’n Crunch, in case you were wondering. I had left it out on the table and it was within arm’s reach, despite England’s rapey position on top of me.

England knocked it out of my hand and it hit the wall with a loud noise. “Quit fucking around!” he shouted, and I knew he was back to pretending to be pirate England. “The only thing you’re allowed to eat is my _cock_.”

I think that was supposed to be erotic? Like dirty talk? England was obviously rusty at this. Then again, I guess it really has been a while since his pirating days, as pirates have been extinct for a long time. (Those Somali guys are just posers. They don’t even have cool pirate hats.)

“Then I will get scurvy.”

(Pirates often suffered from scurvy too, you guys. They didn’t eat FRESH FOOD.)

England’s eye twitched. “BOY,” he started, barely containing his anger. “I warned you about back-talking me …”

“But if I only eat you I won’t get an adequate amount of Vitamin C. Only Vitamin _SE_ men.” Wow, that joke sounded a loud better in my head … that’s an audible joke, not a visual one. I apologize for having an inappropriate story telling medium. IF ONLY YOU COULD HEAR ME. I have a nice voice, like Morgan Freeman.

Okay, not really :(

It’s not bad though.

OOH! You wanna know another joke that’s good audibly but not visually? Okay, try your best to picture this with your ears in your head. Here we go: Where is Russia’s favorite place to shop for clothes?

The answer?

KOHL’S! :D

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL (the joke it that it sounds like “kols” like that KOLKOLKOL thing he always does.) But anyway, back to the story.

“Undo your trousers,” demanded England.

“Uhh …”

“ _I said_ undo your trousers. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“SQUAAAWK!” squawked Mr. Biscuits. ”REPEAT MYSELF REPEAT MYSELF!”

“Hahaha,” I LOL’d. “Dumb bird — HEY!”

England’s arms wrapped around me under the table. They found my fly and were like ZIP ZIP ZIPPITY ZIP and then it was down. And then England was pushing my whole PANTS down! :O

“My Faded Glory jeans!” I exclaimed as they were pushed to around my knees. That is Wal*mart brand jeans for those of you who can afford better and didn’t get that reference. How nice it must be to pay sixty dollars for one pair of jeans at Wet Seal or J Crew or wherever it is you kids shop at these days. But alas, I am in a recession. You know. Stocks and stuff going down. Down like my jeans!

At least I still had on my boxers. They too were from Wal*mart. They come in six-packs, which is very convenient! Though I do wonder why those plastic bags they come in have like zip-lock tops. Like is someone really worrying about their underwear staying THAT fresh? It’s not like you’re gonna put them back in the bag! WTF.

I felt England’s hand feeling my ass over my underwear. Like roughly groping my FIRM, PERKY CHEEKS. Why did I have to have such a squeezable ass? I was bootylicious like J Lo, except without the sex tape. (I taped over mine with MLP.)

“Eeeehh …” I whimpered.

“What’s that?” asked England smugly.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Just thinking about how you’re a pirate. And you’re about to … PLUNDER SOME BOOTY! Get it? ‘cause you’re a pirate? HAHAHAHA!” I was LOLing.

But the lulz didn’t last long. They stopped and I made a surprised choking noise when England slammed me down hard on the table again. This time, the side of my face smashed into the tabletop.

“UGH!” I grunted. “MY FACE!”

“Shut your goddamned mouth,” snarled England. He was PIIIIIIIISSED. “I’ve had enough of your fucking pirate jokes. They’re not funny. You’re breaking character and pulling me out of the scene.”

“Oh, I dunno,” I said, trying to pull enough of my face off the table to speak. “I think some of them are funny. It’s hit and miss, really.”

“Let’s see how many jokes you can make whilst I’m slamming myself balls deep inside you so hard you won’t be able to sit for days.”

:I

If I can’t sit, how will I watch MLP? Standing up? PSSSH. Plus I watch a lot of other shows like ADVENTURE TIME! That’s how you gotta say it. ADVENTURE TIME! You gotta shout it like how they do when it comes on. That’s a great show about a twelve years old boy who is the only human left after an apocalypse or something who crushes on an eighteen years old princess girl (even though he’s not legal) and he goes on adventures with a dog who knocks up a rainbow unicorn thing and have out of wedlock little puppy ponies and then there’s this emo vampire chick and the ice guy who is forever alone so he kidnaps women against their will to be his wife. It’s a great show for the childrens.

“Mmm.”

:/

That was England making that MMM sound. You know why? Because he YANKED my boxers down, and took a step back from me. To take a good look at DAT ASS.

“That arse,” said England, admiring it. His fingers lightly skimmed down it, down my bare ass cheeks. I tried to not let them quiver at his piratey touch. “So round, so fleshy, so …” Cue rapeface. “… virginal.”

“N-n-not completely,” I said, still facing the wall with my head on the table. Why didn’t I move? Why was I still bent at the waist over my kitchen table, with my Faded Glory jeans and underwear around my knees? You are probably wondering these things and I, as your glorious narrator, should provide you with answers. 

Anyway.

“What do you mean, ‘not completely’?” asked England.

“I told you … experimenting … in the shower …” I said. My back was starting to hurt from staying bent over like that. “I stuck a finger up there to see how it felt.”

I heard a jingly rustle. I didn’t recognize the noise but it kinda sounded a bit like when a dog’s tags clink against each other. But I don’t have a dog. 

“And how did it feel?” asked England.

“Weird …” I replied. “… the first time.”

I heard another rustle. I started to turn my head back to see what it was, but England grabbed my head with his hand very suddenly and snapped me back forward.

“How many times did you do it?” asked England, all harshly.

“Dang, don’t just jerk my head around like that!” I yelled. “You’re gonna give me whiplash!”

He didn’t let go. In fact, he gripped me harder and I felt his nails dig in. “Answer me.”

Pirate England was MEAN. I prefer regular England. Regular, bitchy, sweater-vesty, bottomy England. He loved to bottom, so why was he doing this to me? I mean, at least I think he loves to bottom. I guess I never really asked him. We just start getting hot and sexy with each other (that is called foreplay) and pretty soon I’m pounding him into my futon. We probably need moar communication. But when I ask to talk about things, he avoids answering me. 

“England …” I said, making a pouty face to the wall :( “Why won’t you let me call you my boyfriend?”

“What did you say.” England sorta growled that out. It wasn’t a question.

“WHY WON’T YOU LET ME CALL YOU MY BOYFRIEND?” There. No way he didn’t hear THAT. Even deaf people could hear that! Helen Keller would have been like SHHHH NOT SO LOUD! Thank goodness she is blind too, because a grown ass man dressed as a pirate trying to sodomize another grown ass man’s grown ass is not something most people are prepared to see. (Yet you’re picturing it, aren’t you?)

Anyway. England was almost as bad as Chowder. The show about a cat raccoon thing I dunno WTF he is, what am I, a biologist? Anyway, he cooks and shit and this rabbit chick says she’s his boyfriend despite the fact that Chowder very much insists that she is not. RADA RADA!

“ _Cabin boys_ don’t ask their captains questions,” England said like he was pissed. “ _We_ ask _them_.”

Suddenly I felt a weird sensation. Of my ass cheeks being spread open.

“Eeep—“ I squeaked out, trying to look back.

But England snapped my head back with his other hand.

“Here’s _my_ question for you,” said England. I felt something prodding against me. (Against my asshole, to be specific.) “What makes you think you _deserve_ to be my so-called ‘boyfriend’?”

D:

That face wasn’t for what England said. Though that did hurt my feelings. Hopefully that was just part of his role-playing crap, and he didn’t actually mean it. Otherwise, I need some aloe vera STAT. Because I just got buuuurned.

What was the D: face for, you wonder? The feeling I had down south. Not Florida south, oh no. I WISH. Some … other part south. What state is my asshole? Because that is where I felt it. Something hard and warm and slick nudging it. Trying to force its way in.

England had pulled away his hand from my head. Apparently he’d needed both for what he was doing. So I turned my head a little to glance back. England had his pirate pants pushed down! So THAT’S what that sound was. It wasn’t dog tags jiggling, it was his belt being undone, duuuh! Of course! Silly me. I can’t believe I thought it was a dog, pfft. I’m so dumb. I don’t even have a dog! Actually I used to, though. A corgi I bought for England for us to raise together like we were parents and it was our baby. But he said no. Even though I named him Sconey :(

Crap, I really should have been focusing. I think watching so many cartoons has ruined my attention span. It’s really small. Though they say it’s not the size that matters, it’s what you do with it. (You like my innuendo? That was a veiled penis joke. The veil makes it cool!)

Speaking of penises, England was gripping his by the base. He wasn’t prodding my asshole with his fingers or tongue (I might not have minded the tongue, NGL …) That thing trying to push its way in was his DICK. His very hard, lube-slicked dick. Now when did he do that? Oh right. When he was rustlin’ all around earlier. SNEAKY SNEAKY!

“W-wait …” I said, not moving but glancing back to watch. I was glancing HARDCORE because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The tip of his cock slowly sinking inside me. “You’re not gonna finger me first? Prepare a guy, damn.”

“You’ll be tighter if I don’t,” England said bluntly. 

I whimpered in response. “That’s a dick move … LITERALLY — you’re _moving_ your _dick_ to hurt me.”

“I’m the captain. I make the rules.”

Just like Cap’n Crunch’s cereal is rough and leaves the roof of your mouth hurting … captain England did too. But with my rectum instead of my mouth. (You don’t eat cereal with your rectum.)

But you do take penises with your rectum. I mean, you CAN. It’s not a requirement. It’s optional. Except in cases of legitimate rape.

I watched the last of England’s cock disappear inside me. He was balls deep inside my … did we decide yet what state is my asshole? Seems only fitting that if Florida is my penis then my ass should be a state too. Hmm. I’d say one but if someone who reads this happens to be from there, or knows someone from there, or wants to pretend they do or otherwise wants to feel special, they’ll get all ~ALL OFFENDED~. But they shouldn’t. The asshole is a pretty cool place. It feels really good when you stick your dick in one. So really, it’s a compliment, Alabama — oop. I mean, nowhere.

I’d never had a cock up in me before. A finger or two, sure. But that’s different. It’s not as thick, and when I’m doing it, I control everything. I won’t push my limits because I’ll just stop before I do. When you’re getting fucked though, it’s different. Especially with England. Because he was UNRELENTING, YOU GUYS.

He was rough right from the start. Maybe like two or three slow, warm up thrusts, then BAM! He was pounding me at full speed ahead, ARRGH MATEY! Why was I the one that sounded like a pirate just then? Oh well. Anyway, he was just _ramming_ into me. So hard the table scooted and made that loud sound I hate, almost like nails on a chalkboard, but deeper and louder. 

My back arched down, like I sunk, almost like I was gonna fall. I didn’t really mean to do it, but it was like my body was trying to get away from him and his penis intrusion. But he hoisted me back up, so that my chest was on the table, and I let my weight once again fall mostly on it.

There was this buuuuurn. Not like when I crack an ever so witty zinger at other’s expense — no. It was not lulzy at all. It was painful. My asshole felt like it was burning. Like that chick made from fire from ADVENTURE TIME — Flame Mary Sue Princess — was fingering me. No, FISTING me. England felt pretty thick! By the way, how the hell would that relationship work anyway, with her and Finn? They can’t touch each other. How would they even have sex? Hope third degree burns on your dick turns you on, Finn. Because otherwise that just ain’t gonna work out. That’s why he should totally just be with PB, am I right? (Sorry for my shipping bias. I am passionate about cartoons.)

“Nnn,” England moaned quietly. “You’re so tight.”

I was squeezing my eyes shut. “It hurts.”

“Relax — you’re too tense,” said England, thrusting away.

My eyes opened so that I could make an angry face! “It’s hard to relax with a cock up your ass!”

“SQUAAAAWK!” squawked the parrot. “COCK UP YOUR ASS! COCK UP YOUR ASS!”

Ohmygod, you guys. I couldn’t believe it. That parrot was still sitting on England’s shoulder! WATCHING this. Like he was LEGIT watching! I could tell from the way his beady little eyes were looking at right where England’s cock was being shoved in and out of me. Why the hell did England let him watch? ! It was almost like having another person in the room!

“Nooooo,” I whined. “Don’t look, Mr. Biscuits!”

Suddenly, my whale walked in the room. Well, he kinda waddled. Or rolled. Whatever.

“BYOOOOOO? !” he screeched when he saw what England was doing to me. He’d never seen his owner pants down taking a cock before!

“Whaley, no!” I yelled. “Leave! I don’t want you to see this!”

“No, stay,” England said to Whaley. “A whale is perfect. I’m imagining us sailing high on the open sea — a whale is great for ambience.”

I think candles and Barry White songs are good ambience for sex. England likes my whale to watch so he can pretend he’s a pirate at sea. These are just some of the differences we need to discuss. Of course, I’m sure he’ll refuse, like he always does.

So then my whale and England’s parrot were both watching. Watching me bent and pinned over the table, England behind me, slamming in and out of me, being quite rough I must say (I was never that rough with him), and hearing the grunts and groans England made, and the whimpers and whines I made.

“England,” I said with a weird voice, grimacing. It’s hard to sound normal while getting thoroughly fucked. “Why won’t you talk to me about things …”

England just made a grunting sound, and it sounded like it was because of the sex, not what I was saying.

“Like when I ask about … you know … _us_ ,” I continued. “You never answer me.”

“What did I — say —“ England was panting, struggling to talk while thrusting into me so hard. “—about — asking questions … boy?”

“I’m not talking to captain Eng — HGGGHgodthatstings — captain England. I’m talking to regular England.” 

“Shut up,” snapped England. “I don’t want to hear anything from you while I do this to you. Nothing except your whimpers or moans.”

“You’ve wanted me to bottom before … why now?” I asked. “And why didn’t you _ask_ me to? You just — ssssss—“ I trailed off to hiss in pain. God England was rough! My hole had never been stretched like this and England was shoving into it so fast and hard. The pain was sharp and I was actually a little legit worried about tearing. Did you know the term for an anal tear is called a FISSURE? You learned something today, boys and girls. “… you … never asked. You just demanded it. I would have done it for you at lot more willingly if you had just ASKED ME.”

“I don’t ask anything. I’m the captain. And you submit to your captain.”

Tears were in the corners of my eyes, but please believe me when I say I’m not a pussy. It was really hurting. There wasn’t enough lube. One quick coating on England’s cock was not enough. It was burning like a bitch, and I couldn’t help but tremble as I just took it and let England do it. Why? Well I’ll tell you why. Maybe, if I feel like it later.

“Nngh — God,” I said shakily. “PLEASE stop being so rough. You know it’s my first time doing this, damn.”

“I can tell,” England replied, breathing really hard. “From — how tight you are.”

“HOW TIGHT YOU ARE!” squawked Mr. Biscuits.

“Seriously, England! Why are you being so rough with me? ! It’s NOT COOL, DUDE!”

“Why? !” England snapped. “WHY? ! Because I haven’t topped since the _goddamn 1700’s!”_

:O

Is that what your face looks like too?

“What …” I glanced back at him, and up to his face. “Did you say … 1700’s?”

“Yes.” His rhythm slowed, but it still hurt my virginal asshole. “It’s … it’s just been so long, you know? Hundreds of years. Back in my pirate days, things were different — I had someone in my bed nearly every night. Men, women, it didn’t matter. I topped them all. Fucking them thoroughly — my thrusts always too fast and rough to match the gentle sway of the ship. I was the captain of the goddamn Royal Navy and as the British Empire ruled the oceans. I could have anything I wanted, and I did. People obeyed my every command. And if I wanted to ravish someone every evening, there were always plenty of bodies willing to submit to their captain.”

:/

“What the actual fuck, England,” I said. “You got around that much? You probably got syphilis or something. I can’t believe you didn’t wrap it up!”

(Syphilis was actually a common problem for pirates back in pirate days. This is true facts. After all, they didn’t have condoms back then and lucky them, damn, they take away all the sensation …)

“You don’t understand!” shouted England. “Three hundred years of sexual tension just ERUPTED from me! I haven’t topped in so long, it’s been building and building, and was so pent up I just couldn’t stand it anymore! I snapped! I wanted to have what I had back then again, even if just for the afternoon …”

England had gradually stopped thrusting, but his cock was still buried deep within me.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I pouted. “I might have been hesitant, but I would have let you top if you just asked me to.”

England sighed, and looked away. “I don’t know, America.”

“You never wanna talk to me about anything serious. Why is that, England? Why do you av — fffffffuck,” I hissed in pain and tensed. England started moving again. 

“Just let me finish this,” he said. “Stop talking about the real world and pretend we’re doing the role-play again.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “Whatever.”

This was way too much DRAMA! I hate drama. I had no plans for drama today. All I had plans for was buying truck nuts for my truck, which I did and they look great by the way thanks for asking, watching MLP, and then drawing fanart of my favorite ponies from the show because that’s what us bronies do. My favorite is AppleJack! (The pony, not the cereal.) (I do like the cereal too, though.) (But my favorite is Cap’n Crunch.)

England was giving it to me good again. You know how they say the first time a guy gets out of prison, he fucks with INCREDIBLE PASSION? Because it’s been pent up for so long in jail, ya see. But no guy has been in prison as long as England has gone without topping, so this was a SEXUAL INTENSITY not yet known to man. But now it is known. To my asshole.

It was still hurting. But with England thrusting so hard the table was literally hitting up against the wall over and over like BANGBANGBANG, that’s really no surprise.

“Urrrgh …” I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. “… are you almost done yet?”

“I told you,” panted England. “I — am the one — who asks the questions.”

I couldn’t believe England hadn’t popped yet. I mean, if I was topping, I probably would have by now. And I sure haven’t gone three hundred years without banging someone. Hmm … now I’m trying to remember when the last time was. I hadn’t seen England for a while before this, so it’s been a bit of a dry spell. When was that hurricane that flooded New Jersey and made Chris Christie stop eating Nathan’s hot dogs and walk around the wreckage? It was around then. 

“Hurry up and finish,” I said. 

“Stay in character,” England snapped with raggedy breath. 

What the hell do cabins boys sound like? “Hurry up and finish and I love cabins,” I said.

“What are you — complaining about?” England could barely talk while pounding me as roughly as Cap’n Crunch is on your mouth. “This made you hard as a rock.”

“HARD AS A ROCK! HARD AS A ROCK!” squawked Mr. Biscuits.

For a brief second I wondered how England even knew, as my penis was under the table and thus hidden from England (and the parrot and Whaley.) But then I felt England’s hand on my cock, and realized he was reaching under the table. That’s how he knew and I’m glad that mystery is solved.

England’s hand started to slowly stroke me. I moaned a little and bucked into his hand.

“Heh …” said England. “You were — whinging but I — knew it all along. You are such _a slut.”_

_:O_

Oops, accidentally italicized my surprised face.

:O

There we go.

“SQUAAAAK!” screeched the parrot. “SLUT! SLUT!”

OH NO HE DI-INT! How could England call me a slut? ! _He’s_ the one who broke into my house and demanded sex like it was on demand like Comcast On Demand! But like Comcast On Demand, it doesn’t always work that way. Because Comcast sucks and their stuff doesn’t work half the time. 

I’d been wanting to talk to England about making our relationship more than … what it is. I told you I don’t know what to call it. I mean, we don’t gotta use labels. Labels suck, man. Except when you’re labeling poison or something, then I guess it’s useful. Wouldn’t wanna mistake that box of D-Con for a box of Triscuits. But anyway, that’s what I wanted. Just to TALK. But apparently England’s idea of talking is calling me a slut :/

I mean, I guess I should stop being such a Sensitive Sally and all since this is just a role-play. But still. I don’t like to be called a slut, GRRR!

I was about to say that. I was about to stop moaning because England never stopped stroking my cock and he was going faster now and NGL it felt pretty good and I never knew the simultaneous sensation of having both your cock and prostate stimulated at the same time was so amazing but … where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I was gonna stop moaning and tell him all this. But then suddenly, England pulled out.

“Huh?” I looked back to see what England was doing.

Oh, _now_ he stops. Not when I was in pain and telling him to stop hurting me. Oh nooo, he waits until I’m finally starting to enjoy myself some. GEE THANKS ENGLAND.

“Turn around,” he said very quickly. He was holding his still very hard cock in his hand.

I turned around while giving a very confused look. “What are you doing?” I asked, leaning against the table.

“Get on your knees,” he demanded.

“Whaa …”

“I _said_ get on your knees, boy.”

“OH YOUR KNEES, BOY! ON YOUR KNEES, BOY!” squawked that parrot that was really starting to piss me off. It was still on England’s shoulder, and had seen EVERYTHING!

“Shut up, bird,” I said to the bird. “You’re not cute anymore.” Then to England I said, “Dude, I am not sucking your dick. Not after it was just up my ass, eew.”

I don’t do ATM. (That’s ass-to-mouth, not automatic teller machine.)

“That’s not what I want,” said England.

“Oh, okay.” So I got on my knees. See? This is why communication is so important. If only England would listen to me more often …

England took a step closer to me, so that his dick was dangling in my face. “Though if I did want you to suck my cock, I expect you to do so eagerly, without questioning me, boy.”

Whenever England called me ‘boy’ I felt like he was talking to me like I was a dog! Is that how lowly he’s thinking of me? Like a dog? I mean I like dogs but I don’t wanna be treated like one. Beggin’ Strips don’t taste like real bacon. Dogs don’t know it’s not real bacon, but PEOPLE DO!

England starting stroking himself right above my head. He was doing it really fast and hurried, like all desperately.

“What are you doing?” I asked, but I kinda already knew …

“Open your mouth.”

“OPEN YOUR MOUTH!” squawked the bird.

“England—“

“Boy, I said open your mouth!”

I opened it tentatively, the scent of Captain Crunch on my hot breath.

England moaned. His eyes closed and he kept pumping himself. I could tell by the sound of that moan what was about to happen. But I kept my mouth open wide, like Kirby, the lovable Nintendo character. He can open his mouth pretty wide.

“Oh God,” moaned England.

And then I felt it. And also tasted it. Some went in my mouth, some hit on my face. On my cheeks, on my nose, a little even towards my eye! Luckily my glasses were still on. Like a sneeze guard at a buffet, glasses are like a semen guard for your eyes.

Which was very handy, because England came a lot. White ribbons of cum splashed on my face like I was some cheap whore in a porno, but this wasn’t a porno because I didn’t get paid for this. Some got on my tongue and it tasted like bitter unwashed pirate dick cum.

“Mmm,” moaned England. He was stroking the last of it out of him, finishing himself off. “Swallow it, slut.”

:’D

No way was I doing that. I spat that nasty cum out of my mouth. I needed some serious paper towels for my face too. Nothing but BRAWNY would do! You don’t get generic store brand for a job like this. Anyone who’s gotten a facial from a load this big can testify that they know what I am talking about.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” cried my whale. He was traumatized. Despite the fact that he was a sperm whale like Bubbie, he was not prepared to see sperm jizzed all on my face like that. Just like I was not prepared that day he left ambergris all over my rug. I rubbed his nose in it and said BAD WHALE! But then I found out it’s worth a lot so then it was okey.

England’s three hundred year old orgasm left him pretty worn out. He leaned against the table to catch his breath.

But not for long. As soon as I got up to get the BOUNTY paper towels, no wait, BRAWNY, I get them confused … England tackled me to the ground like the badass pirate he was pretending to be.

“WHOA!” I hollered. England had knocked me down face first. I started to get up only to be stopped halfway, so that I was on my hands and knees.

HOW CONVENIENT.

Suddenly, three fingers were crammed inside my asshole.

“NNNGH!” I groaned. 

England was on his knees right behind me. Despite being flaccid from his gasm, he seemed to be enjoying this, given the look on his face. “We’re not done yet, boy,” he said. “I still have to finish _you._ ”

“Noooo!” I whined. “I want some paper towels!” That cum was gonna dry on my face and get all crusty and how am I gonna get that smell out?

England pulled his fingers out. But still stared at my asshole. “Look at it. Quivering like that, like it wants my cock again.”

“I’m quivering because I am COLD because I am PANTSLESS … DUH!”

“No. It’s desperate to have me inside you again.” With that, England slid the three fingers back inside, and began pushing them in and out of me.

“Mmm,” I couldn’t help but groan when England hit my prostate. I gave up and just sorta laid there, with my arms and chest on the floor and my butt propped up in the air.

“MMM!” the parrot parroted. “MMM!”

England was hitting just the right spot. “Right there …” I said.

“SQUAAAWK! RIGHT THERE RIGHT THERE!”

“Yessssss …” I hissed, bucking back onto his fingers. Who knew I liked prostate stimulation so much? I learned something that day.

“YESSSSSS!” squawked Mr. Biscuits.

“Yes, yes, yes …” I chanted.

“YES YES YES MMM RIGHT THERE!” said the parrot.

“Stop making fun of me!” I yelled at the bird.

“NO NO NO!”

What the …? How’d he do that? I thought he could only copy what others said? I would have pondered this more, had I not started to cum all over the place.

“OH CAPTAIN MY CAPTAAAAIIINNNNN!” I shouted as I came. I wonder how many people will get a Walt Whitman reference. But anyway, I came all over the floor, dripping out white all over my linoleum kitchen tiles, and England continued to finger me hard until every last spurt was out, and my whale and that bird watched my entire display of it all, including my derpy gasm face.

When I was milked dry and finished, England pulled out his fingers. And I collapsed on the floor, panting like a dog, woof woof.

England stood up. He didn’t say a word. But then he did, “Clean yourself up, boy.” And then he walked out of the kitchen.

I will never be able to look at the pirate on the box of Cap’n Crunch ever again :’D

X

LATERZ

So there I was, on the couch, watching MLP. I was laying on my stomach because my ass was way too sore to be sitting proper.

Suddenly, England walked into the room, dressed not as a pirate, but normally, in a sweater vest. 

“What do you want?” I pouted, not taking my eyes off the TV.

“I just wanted to say goodbye before I leave,” he said. “I saw the damage you did to my car. I’m not going to charge you though.”

“Just go then,” I said, still making a pouty face.

“But what the hell is with the fake testicles on the back of your truck?”

“I LIKE THEM.”

“They’re tacky.” There was an awkward pause, and England sighed. “Look, we should talk. You’re probably wondering why I did what I did.”

“To my ass, yep, definitely been wondering that.” But I was also quite surprised England said he finally wanted to talk to me …

“I know you’ve been badgering me about where our relationship is going …”

Great, now I’m picturing a badger during what seems like a very DRAMATIC, SERIOUS MOMENT.

“And I hadn’t given you any answers,” continued England. “It’s not like I hadn’t been thinking about it too. It’s just that, I needed to know something first.”

“HMM?”

“I hadn’t shown you my kinkier side, and you hadn’t bottomed for me yet, and I needed to make sure you could handle that before I agreed to be in a real relationship with you.”

:I

“I thought it was because you hadn’t topped in so long?” I said.

“… that was true too, but I originally didn’t want to share that with you.”

“Oh.”

“I like it relatively normal most of the time,” England continued. “But every now and then, I’m going to want to try something different. Possibly weird and definitely kinky. I like role-playing and toys and bondage and being asphyxiated and rape fantasies.”

“… what was that last one?” I asked. “No wait … what was almost ALL those last ones?” 

“Of course, you needn’t worry, as we will have a safe word, so yes, I agree to be in a real relationship with you.”

“Asphyxiated means being choked, right — WAIT WHAT? !” I was shocked :O “You’ll be my real actual factual boyfriend instead of just the guy who has his own drawer for his stuff at my house and sleeps with me sometimes but I always had to tell people we were just friends because you told me I wasn’t allowed to say we were anything more? !”

“Indeed.”

“WELL COOL BEANS!”

:D

Friendship is magic, you guys. BOYFRIENDSHIP is also magic. It’s regular friendship magic, plus the magic of ANAL, and that just makes it even more special :3

“Okey then, this can work. I can handle most stuff,” I said, “but just don’t get _too_ kinky on me, haha.” Who knew what kinds of craziness I was in for agreeing to this relationship!

“Oh please,” scoffed England. “I’ve seen your Internet search history. If you can handle R-18 cartoon pony fanart, you can handle whatever I throw at you.”

:I

The end!


End file.
